


It's Not As If

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: A fill for prompt on the disneykinkmeme asking for dark and angsty slave-Aladdin/Mozenrath





	It's Not As If

“You know Moze, this isn’t quite what I expected when I agreed to become your slave for a year in exchange for you…for you-” he faltered, loosing confidence on a painful subject.

Mozenrath had no such reservations.

“For me agreeing to bring your beloved princess and her doting father back to life?” he finished blandly. He watched, Aladdin, watched how a roll of tension moved from the strained muscles in his hunched shoulders, down his back, and finally, seeming to leave him all together in a sigh.

“Yeah.”

The former prince of Agrabah, the eagerly anticipated new Sultan, was on his hands and knees scrubbing the citadel floors of the Lord of the Black Sand. Next to him, a bucket of questionable water, in his hands, a bare boned brush. The windows he had thrown open in frustration cast resplendent late afternoon sunlight on the beads of sweet on his forehead. Mozenrath stood next to him, over him, his shiny black boots next to Aladdin’s bended knees. 

“Did you expect to be beaten savagely by a whip, Aladdin? Starved? Mutilated? Ravaged in a dungeon?”

Already flushed from exertion, Aladdin’s ears grew red, and he mumbled in annoyance,

“The things you say…”

More than he was letting on, it actually fascinated the older man that Aladdin was willing and even somewhat comfortable talking about the events of the past several months. But perhaps it was his way of dealing, his way of getting into a normalcy, even a false normalcy. Maybe he was tired of living in bewildered grief.

Agrabah had grown and grown and grown, seemingly endlessly accumulating wealth and new citizens. But like every jewel city of the world, where there was prosperity, there was squalor, crowded ghettos, unfit sanitation, and finally, disease. 

The plague started in the poorer districts and just as it started to get noticed by the heroic crew of Agrabah, it was already spreading. Traditional medicines, food and water supplied and distributed by Aladdin and Jasmine themselves barely slowed the crawl of the sickly to even the palace doors. Being among the bereaved and destitute was admirable for a princess, but ultimately stupid, and as could be expected, she fell to bed rest, to unconsciousness, and finally death. The Sultan, soon after, passed away, whether from the exposure of his stricken daughter or his stricken heart, unable to be determined. 

Aladdin had only come to Mozenrath when his loyal but inept friend Genie had insisted apologetically that even Genies can’t bring anyone back from the dead . Aladdin cast him off in angry and desperate sadness, turned his back on the grieving city, and finally came to Mozenrath’s doors after slaughtering half his mamluck guards. Angry words were exchanged, but the desperate clinging to his shirt front in the balled up fists of his tearful enemy made him realize this wasn’t a normal little confrontation between the two. Aladdin insisted, wanting to believe it himself as much as he wanted the sorcerer to believe it, that he had the power, he had the skill, the knowledge, the experience in raising dead. Mozenrath tried to somewhat sarcastically remind him that a rotting zombie mamluck and a revived and beautiful princess where two very different things, but Aladdin said he could wait. He had no other choice. He had no other hope. 

And that’s where the deal was made. 

It was actually quite simple, Mozenrath reflected. And unexpected. But he was sure the pain was more complicated in Aladdin’s thoughts, though he betrayed little nowadays. At first, he was openly miserable, mute, quietly but savagely angry, attending to the little tasks Mozenrath set before him. And in fact, Mozenrath couldn’t have cared less at first. This was payback, pure and simple. Watching Aladdin demean himself, bow to Mozenrath, hearing “Yes sir” inflamed his ego far past the wounds Aladdin inflicted on him in humiliating and frustrating defeats.

But he began to miss the routine, their talking, their banter, even their arguments. The new, broken Aladdin bored him, troubled him. So he took him out of utter degradation, and gave simple, inane assignments, assignments that still while servitude, kept him close enough to Mozenrath that things seemed normal, at least for awhile.

“Are you too good for manual labor?” Mozenrath asked tauntingly. 

Aladdin threw down his brush and straightened his back, his mouth set in a hard line.

“No, that’s not it.” 

And it wasn’t. In fact, Aladdin’s presence in the Citadel had gone beyond a show of dominance and pride and had actually become useful. 

Singlehandedly, tirelessly, he had reinvigorated the neglected fields of the kingdom, repaired roofs and walls, organized, cleaned, and otherwise made the Land of the Black Sand a shade more hospitable. He was good at manual labor, admirable muscles being put to solid use after months of disinterested apathy. It seemed to calm him, too. Took his mind from the images of his deceased wife covered in sores and a burial shroud. 

And that suited Mozenrath fine.

“Leave that, you can finish it later. I have something I want you to see.” Mozenrath said abruptly. 

Aladdin looked up evenly.

“Is that an order?”

Mozenrath smiled, lips curled around perfect white teeth.

“Isn’t it always?”

Aladdin rolled his eyes and followed Mozenrath , wiping fruitlessly at his stained pants.

Aladdin was familiar with the room Mozenrath led him into. He had been made once or two to clean it, and once, humiliatingly, been forced to serve the sorcerer breakfast in it.

Mozenrath's bedroom. As could be expected, it too had high, vaulted ceilings, with cold, dark gray walls, relieved only with the exquisite and most likely stolen intricately woven and massive tapestries hung around the room. The bed itself was oversized as well, speaking to Mozenrath's somewhat excessive sense of luxury. With near-black-blue sheets, and a nearly two dozen throw pillows of different and dark velvets, it dominated the room, accompanied only by a trunk or two containing some clothes, a small table with a pitcher of water, and a desk with papers and pens.

Mozenrath made his way past all of this and with a short not, ordered Aladdin to open the balcony doors. 

Silently, Aladdin did so, stepping out into the cooling night, waiting for Mozenrath to explain himself. 

He didn't have to wait long. Mozenrath cast an all encompassing arm over the vista before them, the long horizon an inky blackness broken by no lights. 

"What do you see?"

Aladdin cast him a curious glance, before folding his arms and leaning on the stone railing dispassionatley. 

"Your ever mighty, ever expanding kingdom, surely dwarfing all others now or before." He flatly recited. 

Mozenrath huffed in annoyance, his fist curling. He could hit Aladdin for his sarcasm. He could, and Aladdin would take it. He wouldn't fight back. And he enjoyed that liberty, those first few months together, to rail at him with fist and magic whenever he pleased. It was satisfying, he had to admit. But the lack of fight in Aladdin troubled him just as his lack of emotion troubled him. 

"No," he said with measured patience. "What has changed?"

Aladdin took the time to survey closer the city below them still visible in the torchlight. Then it dawned on him. The little empty haunted shells of houses, the places used for hideouts and ambushes, had lights in them, had figures moving in them! He looked quickly at Mozenrath, then looked back, searching, and there, near the gates, a trail of bobbing lights, the distance sign of sand kicked up by dozens of horse hooves. 

People were moving into the Land of the Black Sand, the city of the dead.

"What's going on? Where all these people coming from?" 

Mozenrath waited before answering Aladdin's questions, starting instead by recounting his activity of the past week.

"I sent Xerxes and some scouts out, a week ago, to do some spying on your long lost city."

There, some anger from Aladdin, the lowering of his brow, the tensing of his jaw.

"Why?" the youth shot at him.

Mozenrath held up his hand, and continued.

"My reasons are my own, but that's not the point. The point is that Agrabah is gone, Aladdin. Gone as you knew it, any way."

"What are you talking about? It can't be gone. You're insane." Aladdin backed off the railing and into Mozenrath's face. 'I don't believe you, this is some sort of trick."

"And why would I try to trick you? What need is there of that? I already have your servitude. You're my slave, Aladdin, by your own admission. What I could accomplish by trickery I could outright order."

Mozenrath could tell he had wounded Aladdin with his words. He fell back a half step, out of Mozenrath's face, and his eyes widened for a moment in wet disbelief, but when Mozenrath met his eyes, no remorse, no breaking of a dominating expression, the former-hero grimaced in self disgust and looked down to the side, breaking their connection.

Taking that as an acknowledgment of Mozenrath's control, the sorcerer continued. 

"Think about it Aladdin. Who would defend a city when over half of its people are dead or dying of disease? It was the obvious move on the board and Agrabah's neighboring cities took it. It was a matter of business. I've been there myself and from what I can tell, the city is being gutted and disbanded." 

Aladdin's fists, which had been clenching the whole time Mozenrath spoke, released with a helpless loss of bodily tension. He put them to his face, covering it for a moment, turning from Mozenrath. 

"So there's nothing, everyone is-" he spoke softly from behind his palms, as if to himself, grasping in the dark for something to hold onto. 

"Yes, there is nothing to go back to. And everyone isn't gone now, they were gone before. Agrabah being a dead city doesn't affect the fact that it's royals were already dead. That Jasmine is dead." Mozenrath was impatient now, and met Aladdin's anger when the youth turned on him violently once more.

"Why are you telling me this?" he yelled. "Why?" he demanded. "Is this funny to you? Are you satisfied? You're right, I'm alone, I lost! Are you happy now? Do you feel like you've finally gotten me back for everything I've ever done to you?" the last syllable of his words broke in a threat of tears, and he raised his fist as if to strike Mozenrath.

"Please," Mozenrath huffed in disgust. "Are you really that vain that to think that all I do is fueled by some long-irrelevant desire to hurt you? I told you what I told you because it's the truth. Because you should know."

Aladdin's fist dropped, and he seemed a slight more calmed. He ventured to even ask hopefully. 

"So you're still going to try to bring them back, if I, if I remain-?"

"My slave. Yes, Yes I will."

The words dropped like a stone into the vastness of the balcony, the night air, the rising moon and the faint outline of the city beneath them. It felt too heavy, in fact. 

Aladdin had gone back to the railing, staring out, rubbing his neck with both hands as a way to relieve stress, to push the misery down, down under his consciousness. 

"Well I guess I better go back to the floors, if I want to get some sleep before morning." Mozenrath watched as he turned to go back inside and felt himself rather than decided to say,

"Stop. Stay there."

Aladdin's eyebrow lifted at the sudden change in Mozenrath's tone, the order. He turned back, waiting with his back to the sorcerer. He knew by now he wasn't really expected or even allowed to question Mozenrath when he switched into a more mastering role. 

But Mozenrath wasn't as sure as he sounded. He was only sure of his desire, not the method. He was sure that in the soft and rounded glow from the moon and the countless stars, Aladdin's appearance brought in his heart and gut a pain, a pain that began when he first saw the hero face to face, resplendent in hot sunshine.

The lean and taut form, the tapered hips, the rounded muscles of the shoulders, the dark caramel of his skin, the confidant mouth, the bright eyes, all were unattainable. Aladdin was always unattainable. Through Mozenrath's own miscalculation of his character, through his own stumbling into the inescapable game of cat and mouse, he had estranged and distanced the hero, the hero who was unattainable in his gallant love of a beautiful princess. Aladdin hated him. Aladdin was unattainable, the mantra Mozenrath told himself when he switched to anger as a way of interacting with the forbidden fruit on the tree. 

And yet, it occurred to him now, now in the intimacy of their silence, in the quiet surrender of Aladdin to his whole, broken life, that perhaps Aladdin wasn't so unattainable anymore. 

He was his slave, after all.

"Don't say a word." He ordered. His voice was low, but now a whispher, as if trying to calm himself. 

In response he got obedient silence. 

He came to stand very close behind Aladdin, the top of the boy's head just under his jawline. His fingers flexed, and slowly came to touch where he always wanted to touch, the small gap where the back of Aladdin's vest ended and before his pants began, the bar of rich brown skin. 

Aladdin jumped under his fingertips, but mercifully, he remained silent. 

In his heart, Mozenrath felt a near-overwhelming surge of power and confidant and satisfaction. He was doing it. He had ever right now. 

His fingers ran side to side with slight pressure, massaging there lightly, before hungrily moving on, insatiable. They ghosted over the prominent bones of the hero's exposed hips to his flat and tight stomach, feeling the little dips of muscle, up the leanness of his ribs. 

His chest was pressed tightly now to Aladdin's back, his towering weight keeping the youth there. 

"Mozenrath..." Aladdin was saying his name, a desperate whisper. 

Mozenrath, caught in his own bodily greed, didn't hear him. His hands went up now, owning. They lifted Aladdin's vest sides slightly, the flat of his palms pressing to the hero's chest, feeling nipples hardened by the cold bead under his skin. 

Aladdin tried to say his name again, choked on it, swallowed hard.

Mozenrath took Aladdin's strong jaw in his hand, his face coming close, his breath hot on the skin of his neck. He felt the disturbance of Aladdin's throat convulse, trying to form words once more despite Mozenrath's orders.

 

Mozenrath pressed even closer, the growing hardness under his clothes pressing into Aladdin's back. His fingers went were they longed to go before, deep into the boy's rich black hair, suddenly twisting violently to yank his head back as he pushed forward insistently.

Finally, Aladdin was able to scream.

"Mozenrath!Stop."

He was still stronger than Mozenrath, and pushed him away, turning wildly. "Stop." he gasped, putting his hands out. His eyes were wild, and he looked at Mozenrath now as he had never seen him before. 

Mozenrath felt an illogical desire to beat him savagely rise within him, and he pushed it away, trying to gain control. He couldn't lose now, not when he was so close.

"Aladdin, you're my slave. I can do with you what I wish." He was panting, but he still managed to sound self-assured.

"I know, I know. But you can't be serious, you can't-." Aladdin struggled, trying to reason with the sorcerer.

"I can. I have every right, just like I have every right to cast you out of my home and let your precious little princess rot forever in the ground where you laid her." he practically spat in frustration. 

Aladdin gaped at him for a moment, letting out a strangled yell of impotent anger and misery. He looked at the balcony railing for one wild moment, as if to cast himself off it. But Jasmine...

He tried begging, something he said he would never do in front of Mozenrath.

"Mozenrath, please, I'll do anything, but not this. Please."

"Aladdin, it's simple," he came forward, and took the boy's upper arm in his gloved hand firmly. He made him look him in the eyes.

" It's either this, or nothing at all."

And what Aladdin saw in Mozenrath's dark eyes told him that was true. His shoulders fell, his arm relaxed in the sorcerer's grip, and even said a soft agreement, but it wasn't necessary, because Mozenrath was already pulling him back into his bedroom.

Later, Aladdin lay on his back, staring at the dark nothingness of Mozenrath's bedroom ceiling. 

He refused to curl into a self-pitying ball. He refused to run out of the room. He refused to look at the sorcerer lying next to him. Finally it was Mozenrath who broke the inertia first, and rose, throwing on an indigo robe. He said not a word, and though Aladdin's dry eyes were trained above him, he saw the last-minute smile Mozenrath cast him, the pleasure, the conquest, the ego, the absolute ownership.

Ownership, the word echoed in Aladdin's mind.

It wasn't as if Mozenrath was as cruel as he could have been.

Words in the tangled bedclothes, the flames of the room's torches unnaturally high though Aladdin longed for darkness to loose himself in.

"It's not as if I am raping you. Remember, you had a choice. You're just as in this as I am."

No, Mozenrath wasn't as cruel as he could have been.

Though it wasn't out of romance, Mozenrath did kiss him. Aladdin could have no way of knowing the thrill in Mozenrath's heart, the wild rush of freedom he experienced with Aladdin's body, how everything, even the hero's firm lips, tasted like victory. 

Mozenrath prepped him, and it was out of necessity that kept him writhing under the sorcerer, the long, pale fingers deep inside of him, the oils shinning on his open thighs. 

He tried to make it feel good. 

But Mozenrath did take him hard. The sorcerer's breaching of the hero was slow and well savored, but once inside, once surrounded by rippled, spasming flesh, hearing Aladdin's gasp, the hero's hands flying to his neck out of reflex, he lost all control. For once, he lost himself to pleasure, and drove Aladdin deep into the mattress, intent to take what happiness he could get when it lie so open to him.

Mozenrath tried to make it feel good. After having spent himself in Aladdin's body, he buried his face the dusky neck and used his hand to bring Aladdin to completion, his teeth on his skin, Aladdin wailing his protest at any unwanted pleasure.

Aladdin did come, despite it all.

Aladdin lay there, staring at the ceiling. 

He believed Mozenrath, believed that Mozenrath would honor his word and try his best to give the princess back her life, give her back to Aladdin. He just wasn't sure he believed she'd have him back, now.

************I adore this pairing so if you have a prompt or request please leave it in a review************************


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